


Oh, Stuff It.

by HyfrydCymru



Series: 30 Days Challenge [5]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: 30 Day OTP Porn Challenge, Day 5, M/M, Oral Sex, Sexual Favours as Payment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-20
Updated: 2015-08-20
Packaged: 2018-04-16 05:25:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4612860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HyfrydCymru/pseuds/HyfrydCymru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Handsome underpants,” he jabbed lightly, tracing the outline of Scotland’s cock with an open-mouthed kiss and caressing the inside of his thighs as a second thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oh, Stuff It.

Arthur hadn’t been too big on rugby for about a decade now, but when he’d opened the front door to a grinning Scotland armed with enough ale and cheap cider to keep a whole stadium happy, he found a new appreciation for the Mangers League.

            They bet (no money, only “favours”), drank, and Arthur could not remember the last time watching a match together had been this enjoyable.

            Or, for his great displeasure, a time when Edinburgh had played better.

“Obstruction!”

“You wish, you scunner! The Irish are shite and you’re going down with them!”

            Arthur shoved the laughing Scot onto his side and couldn’t help the bubble of laughter that escaped his lips, refusing to join in on Scotland’s cackles but smiling nonetheless. 

“You’re shite,” he threw an embroidered pillow to Alasdair’s face and was pleased to hit his target full on until it was thrown right back at him and he ended up with a mouth full of colourful stitching.

            Two-thirds into the game now, and mildly intoxicated, he realised he’d lost already. Alistair shot him a shit-eating grin that informed him that he had realised so too, and England, ever practical, decided to cut his looses and pay his due before the end of the last half.

            Scotland had been about make a snide comment when England moved, fast as propriety allowed, to kneel between Alasdair’s legs.

 “Stuff it,” he commanded, forcibly spreading Scotland’s legs wider to settle between them more comfortably, smiling the way Scotland liked to remember when neither had enough time to meet during the year.  “The Irish are shite.”

He ran his hands dangerously close to where Alasdair was beginning to harden behind the zipper of his pants, and enjoyed the surprised, grunted laugh that earned him. However, before he could do anything more, Scotland pulled him up to a kiss and ran his hands softly through England’s choppy hair. A silent ‘You don’t _have_ to.’

Arthur felt something warm flutter in his chest and kissed the soft corners of Alasdair’s smile. ((I _want_ to.)) They kissed deeply, Arthur charting the crevices of Scotland’s mouth, until Alasdair started chuckling again, so much so that Arthur pulled back to question Alasdair with a raised eyebrow, asking for an explanation.

“We should watch rugby together more often,” and there went Scotland’s oh so sweet consideration.

“Stuff it, wanker,” Arthur tried hard not too laugh and failed, leaving Scotland’s lips to suck marks on the side of his neck.

            England made quick work of the button and zipper on Alasdair’s trousers and pushed the fabric apart slower than strictly necessary. Alasdair made a funny rough noise at that, and with one last kiss to the underside of Scotland’s jaw, Arthur moved downwards to press the next one to the exposed white of Alasdair’s boxer shorts and nuzzle the hardening flesh underneath the cotton.

“Handsome underpants,” he jabbed lightly, tracing the outline of Scotland’s cock with an open-mouthed kiss and caressing the inside of his thighs as a second thought.

            Alasdair moaned and brushed away the stray strands of hair from England’s eyes carefully.

“Handsome eyes.”

            Arthur huffed and pulled the elastic on Alasdair’s boxers down swiftly, but drew a small circle on the dip of his hip in thanks.

            He fisted the base of Scotland’s cock and stroked languidly, taking the head into his mouth and sucking in time to the erratic pattern Alasdair’s breathing was beginning to take. The taste was thick on his tongue, not necessarily pleasant but strangely heady in a way that was good. Alasdair gave a light thrust and slipped further in; Arthur moaned quietly and allowed it, relaxing his throat to keep from chocking and pressing his tongue to the slit. Alasdair cupped the back of Arthur’s head and tried to keep his strength in check when he fisted the other into the longer strands on the top of his head with a restrained shout when Arthur began to bob his head down the length of Scotland’s cock. Alasdair felt the heat coil low on his gut and he couldn’t help but close his eyes, calling out Arthur’s name repeatedly in warning as he felt himself tense and cum into the slick warmth of Arthur’s mouth.

“God, god,” Arthur sucked the last drops of cum and released Alasdair with a satisfied lick of his lips. Scotland kneaded the strands of hair he still held. “God, Arthur.”

            Arthur let himself be led into another kiss, Alasdair leaning down to reach him this time, and giving over control to the warmth of Alasdair’s arms as they pulled him up onto the couch and down on Alasdair’s chest. He would have been quite content to stay there too, as Scotland’s hands began to skim down his sides, were it not for the fact that a loud cheer erupted from the game still playing, if only forgotten.

            Unbelieving, he abruptly ended the kiss to turn around.

            Scotland cursed up a storm and pushed England aside to focus on the score showing.

            What was louder, Scotland’s claims that the Irish were “cheating scum” or England’s unrestrained howls of laughter, there was no one to say.

**Author's Note:**

> This one's badly written and short, but I got a few good laughs trying to come up with it.


End file.
